I go to college at Chico State, CA. It’s my second year there, I’ve shifted my focus to art from math, which is both weird and expensive but I like it so far. I met the most outgoing girl I’ve ever seen in my figure drawing class. Her name is Rita. She has long black hair that she usually keeps in a ponytail and beautiful olive skin. Her eyes are a mixture of green and brown, I put it that way because I swear that sometimes they are mostly green and others they’re mostly brown.
When she is drawing from one of the models, when she is focusing and creating, her eyes are mostly brown. She looks fierce and determined, then, and stunningly gorgeous as always. When she’s having fun or laughing at a joke her eyes turn greener and a dimple appears on her left cheek. She’s almost my height and I’m an inch or so over six feet tall. She is twenty-three years old, which surprised me when I found out because she barely looks eighteen.
I helped her with a history essay in the local coffee shop, on my laptop. She sat close to me, we wrote together and I could smell her exquisite perfume mixed with her body’s sweet natural scent the two aromas combining to conjure a subtle mix of jasmine and pine and vanilla. When I made a joke about Hitler’s wife, she laughed and kissed my cheek. When I blushed, she poked me in the chest, calling me ‘shy’ in a loud voice and then kissed me firmly on the lips. The kiss quickly became passionate, with our tongues darting in and out of each other’s mouths and she grabbed the waistband of my jeans to pull me closer. When we broke for air and her face was still inches from mine, she smiled at me and winked.
“Now that was one hell of a first kiss,” she said, her dimple showing and her eyes more green than brown.
“Can we see how the second one goes?” I asked, smiling shyly.
We kissed again, softer this time but for a longer time. I touched her incredibly soft cheek and I could feel the swell of her breasts on my chest. When we stopped again, I looked around and noticed that three older customers looking towards us disapprovingly. Rita touched my cheek and brought my face right back to hers, looking at me deep into my eyes.
“Are you caring what they think?” she asked softly. “I don’t mind people seeing us.”
“Me neither,” I said, smiling and kissing her again.
It was hard to concentrate on finishing her history paper, but we did it. It had been sunset and overcast when we were kissing in the café, but when we were done and heading out, rain was hammering on the concrete. I looked at my phone, the time read nearly 9PM.
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “Any plans?”
“Only with you,” she said. “I have to repay you for all of your wonderful academic assistance and for your lips touching mine. Let me buy you a drink?”
“Well,” I said, considering. “Sounds great.”
She smiled, grabbed my hand and walked us briskly out into the rain. Most girls seem to detest rain more than, say, cats do. However, not Rita, she acted as if nothing was coming from the sky above. She marched us over to a bar that most students go to called The Grad. It is in a brick building and looks very old. Inside, the only things that look old are the wooden floors and the bar itself. The establishment being geared to the students that flood it, new neon signs and flat screen TVs hang from the walls and the occasional poster to a Christopher Nolan film.
“Hey Chris!” I heard from my left. Turning, I saw a friend of mine from math class.
“Oh hey Don,” I said, taking my coat off and hanging it over my backpack on a hook by the door.
“Well who’s this hottie?” Don asked me, looking only at Rita now.
“Oh this is Rita,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She turned and kissed me quickly on the lips before extending her hand out to Don.
“Pleased to meet you Don,” Rita said with a smile. “I don’t recall seeing you here before…”
“Oh, first time,” Don said, looking uncomfortable. Some guys don’t like a girl to look them in the eyes with anything resembling intelligence. “So… you must come here a lot then, huh?”
“Oh,” she said. “My best friend owns the place. She has me fill in sometimes for her.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said, smiling at her.
She winked at me and looked back to Don.
“Came here alone tonight, Don?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah…” he said. “I was meeting some here, but, they… want me to meet them somewhere else.
Nice meeting you.” He nodded to me. “Chris.”
With that he left, stepping out into the rain. I turned back to Rita, surprised but also… unsettled a little. I hadn’t wanted Don around me, but I didn’t think she’d so easily intimidate him. She was more forward than any girl I’d been around.
“I could tell you didn’t wanna hang out with that guy,” she said.
“Yeah, I see that,” I said. “Thanks.”
She kissed me again, deeply, holding me close to her. I could feel my groin stirring and hardening in my jeans, and I wanted to pull my growing erection away from Rita but she held me tighter, letting her body press up against mine as she moaned and kissed me more. After the incredible kiss and feeling elated, we headed to the bar where we sat down on the high swivel stools.
“Hey Ri,” she said.
I recognized the bartender, Rianne, from around campus.
“Rita,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”
“Ri this is Chris, Chris this is Ri,” Rita said.
“Pleasure,” Rianne said, winking at me as Rita does. “So what’ll it be for you two?”
“How ‘bout an Old Fashioned?” Rita asked. “Hell, Chris’ll have one too.”
“I will?” I asked, smiling at her. She was constantly amusing me.
“You will,” she said. “Told you I’d buy you a drink, didn’t say you’d have a choice as to what it is.”
“Fair enough I guess,” I said, laughing a little.
Rianne nodded, walking away to make the drinks.
“Old Fashioned, huh?” I asked. “Is that, like, your drink or something?”
“It’s not mine,” Rita said. “It’s had that name for decades and decades.”
“I know, I’ve heard of it,” I said. “I was asking if that was your usual drink of choice.”
“I’ve always loved it,” she said. “Far before the media brought it back into circulation with Mad Men.
Before that show, around here in California, I had to describe it to bartenders. Criminal, I say. It’s been a staple in bars across the country, still is in better places.”
“Ok,” I said. “So what’s in it?”
“Bourbon,” she said. “That and bitters muddled with sugar. It has an orange wedge and a maraschino cherry. On the rocks. It’s perfect. It’s not the original version, but better I think.”
“You seem… passionate about it,” I said.
“Like I said,” she replied. “I love it.”